Letters to Penthouse XXXII (3 page)

They led me the three blocks to Mistress Megan’s car like that, with my face blushing and my cock rock-hard. I had no idea
what they were going to do to me—I had only imagined being “punished” by my mistress, not two women at once! “Lie down and
don’t get up until the car stops,” Mistress Megan barked at me as Vivian opened the door and put me in the backseat. I wouldn’t
have dreamed of disobeying them, so I lay there with my cock throbbing and my senses on high alert. The two women kept up
a steady banter during the ride, as if I hardly even existed. Somehow, being ignored also turned me on no end—the thrill of
having these powerful women bonding and knowing they’d already crafted a punishment regimen for me made me so horny I almost
came in my pants.

But instead, I waited patiently, not saying a word. When Mistress Megan pulled into a parking space, they both got out. Vivian
was the one who opened the door nearest my head. I looked up at her, awed by how tall and imposing she appeared from that
angle. I opened my mouth to say something, but she stopped me. “No talking, Jeff, or we’ll have to gag you,” she declared
before leading me out of the car.

They marched me inside, where I was led down the stairs to a dungeon. Mistress Megan had alluded to her well-stocked dungeon
in our chats, but the sight of it took my breath away. The walls were full of implements
ranging from floggers, to handcuffs, to knives and coils of rope. The women led me over to a bench, but before bending me
over, they made me strip. “Take your clothes off—now!” Mistress Megan commanded. I must have moved too slowly as I unzipped
my pants because Vivian stepped forward.

“I’ll do it, since you’re such a slowpoke,” she said, roughly removing my clothes. Then my mistress tied my ankles and wrists
to the bench’s legs, while Vivian wrapped a blindfold around my eyes. I couldn’t see, but I could certainly feel as they took
turns slapping my ass. Their blows got progressively harder as the spanking continued. “You thought you were so sly, didn’t
you, Jeff? Well, I was on to you from the first letter you wrote. Megan knew you were married, so she wasn’t shocked to hear
from me. In fact, I’ve been feeding her some ideas about ways to deal with you,” my wife said, her words shocking me. “Vivian’s
not the dominant type?” my wife continued mockingly, quoting my own words back to me as she slapped my ass with a stiff, hard
object that felt like a ruler, delivering one whack to punctuate each harshly spoken word.

“You have one chance to redeem yourself,” Mistress Megan said, and I moaned. “Quiet, or we really will shove a gag in your
mouth. For now, though, we’re going to stuff your mouth full of pussy. You have to get both of us off with your tongue in
ten minutes, otherwise we’re going to find a new slave. And yes, that includes
your pretty little wife,” she said, untying me, then slipping off my blindfold in time for me to see her grab Vivian and give
my wife a lusty, tongue-filled kiss. My dick went wild at the sight of those beautiful women kissing, and my mouth watered
at the mere thought of worshiping two beautiful pussies.

They stopped kissing, and I crawled over to them. “Oh, there’s a catch,” said my mistress. She then took my wrists and bound
them behind my back. “We just want your tongue—not your hands or your cock,” she said before removing her clothes to reveal
a neatly trimmed bush.

She then planted her pussy on my face, effectively smothering me with her cunt. My outstretched tongue drove inside her, and
I tasted her savory juices for the very first time. I pressed upward with my tongue, wishing I could also massage her clit
with my fingers, but I made do. She started rocking back and forth against me, but just as I was really getting into it, my
mistress pulled away. “Don’t ignore your wife, slave,” she said. The more gruffly they treated me, the more turned on I got,
and when Vivian grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and shoved my face into her shavedbare pussy, I almost spurted.

I willed my cock to be patient, then proceeded to eat my wife’s cunt like I’d never eaten it before. I put my entire face
into it, nuzzling my nose against her clit, running my tongue along her creamy slit, and sucking on her clit. She moaned when
I did that, easing her grip
on me, and I sucked harder. I felt Mistress Megan’s nails running up and down my back, then her fingers grabbing my ass cheeks
and pulling them apart. “Oh!” I exclaimed, pulling away for a second before redoubling my efforts.

“That’s it—I own your mouth, Jeffrey, and I am going to put it to good use,” my wife said as she writhed against my flickering
tongue. I could tell that she wanted to hold out and make me “work” for as long as possible, but my oral offerings were too
powerful, and Vivian came, splashing me with her juices. They ran down my chin even though I tried my best to swallow them
as they gushed out of her pussy.

Vivian’s pussy was replaced by Mistress Megan’s. There’s really no way to claim I was eating her; it was more like she was
riding me, using me like a sex toy. She came when she was good and ready, while I had exactly the opposite problem—trying
to enjoy the sweet taste of her pussy without spurting my load onto the floor.

Once both women had come, they told me to wait patiently for them while they went upstairs to shower. I could’ve walked around,
but my hands were still tied behind my back. I waited for them on my knees, staring at my cock and longing to touch it. It
was the longest half hour of my life as I imagined Mistress Megan spanking Vivian as the water splashed against them. I was
hoping they’d let me climax once they finally came downstairs, but I guess I’d been too
naughty to allow even that. Vivian sent me home, telling me she was going to stay over at Mistress Megan’s and dream up more
kinky torments for me. At home, I finally got to stroke my cock and came in about two seconds. When I logged on to my computer,
I had a message from Mistress Megan and Mistress Vivian. “Meet us here in the morning. We have a present for you.”

When I met them the next day, they presented me with a black collar. “Our pet” was engraved in the leather. “You’re to wear
this at all times,” Mistress Vivian told me. “We’re going to train you to follow our orders. If you can’t obey, then you will
soon find yourself single.” I now wear my collar proudly and answer to both my mistresses’ demands—preferably at the same
time.

—Mr. Jeffrey G., New York, New York
     

Last week, my boyfriend, Ed, threw me a fabulous surprise party, complete with all the people who are important to me, and
a chocolate layer cake featuring twenty-eight candles blazing on top of it. I screamed when I walked through the door. I had
expected a quiet dinner, only to find a roomful of people, all there to see me. I was so overcome with happiness that I cried,
then washed my face and proceeded to drink champagne, mingle, and appreciate every second of my spectacular party.

As the last guest finally headed out, I thought we might slip into bed, but Ed had other plans for me. “Where do you think
you’re going?” he asked in a low voice as I started to creep upstairs, ignoring the smattering of cups, glasses, and other
detritus from our revelry.

I turned toward him, confused for a moment, until I saw the decidedly lecherous look on his face. That could only mean one
thing—he wanted to spank me. And since it was my birthday, I was in for an extra-special treat, or at least my ass was. We
have a longstanding ritual whereby on my birthday, our normally light spanking play takes a turn for the intense, with the
kind of smacks that send shudders of excitement racing through my body and seem to make any thoughts in my brain simply evaporate.

When he spanks me like that, we both go to another place. I feel like I’m floating, then I’m brought back to earth by the
feel and sound of his hand slamming against my waiting flesh, as my upturned cheeks throb with the need for his touch. My
birthday is always an excuse for us to channel this energy into a combination of spanking and sex that’s the most exhilarating
erotic activity I know of, but one that we have to save for special occasions.

If my ass could blush, it would’ve right then, as I
backed down the stairs and looked directly at him. “Where do you want me?” I asked, my voice hushed.

He didn’t speak, but stepped forward, then picked me up in a fireman’s carry and brought me over to the couch. Pushing aside
the stray pillows, he splayed me across his lap. Something about being in this position makes me feel the most vulnerable—and
the most aroused. I’m granting him permission to have his way with my ass, to strike me however he pleases, and to celebrate
my turning one year older by seeing if I can take more than I did the last time. I know couples who playfully swat each other
as a form of light foreplay, but for Ed and me, spanking is a transcendent act. “Are you ready?” he asked as he lifted up
my skirt to reveal the pale pink panties I’d donned that morning—and creamed just moments before when he’d given me that look.

I murmured my assent, but Ed was already reaching to find out for himself. Peeling down my panties just enough to reveal the
round, lush curves of my ass, he said, “Hmm,” as he saw the evidence of my arousal. His finger dipped between my pussy lips,
making me shudder. “I think you’re more than ready, Serena. But I want to hear you say it—beg me for your birthday spanking.”

He knows how much I love to get spanked by him, so this was just a way to prolong my anticipation. “Please spank me,” I said,
my pussy flushed with desire as I turned my head to look up at him. “One for
every year. I need it,” I said, getting straight to the point. We don’t bother playing games where I pretend to misbehave
to get “punished” and instead just acknowledge that we both get off on our spanking give and take.

“Okay, Serena, you asked for it,” he said before raising his hand and bringing it crashing down onto my ass. I squirmed in
his grasp, even though I didn’t want him to stop. I shifted so I could lean my head against his leg, feeling the warmth of
his skin through the light fabric of his pants as he again brought his strength to bear on the other cheek. “We won’t know
how many I’ve given you unless you count,” he said, and part of me was tempted to let him go for as long as he wanted, but
I knew that part of the game was to pack as much pleasure into a given number of strokes as possible.

“Two,” I called out, my voice sure and steady. The next blow landed smack on the center of my ass, covering both cheeks, as
if my asscrack were the bull’seye. I kept counting as he tried different techniques, such as opening his fingers, then cupping
them. With each blow, I pressed a little closer to him, huddling in my position and slowly raising my ass higher. By the time
we got to “twenty,” I was well on my way to climaxing.

“Serena, you weren’t thinking of coming already, were you? You know I want you to wait for me to join you,” he reprimanded,
giving the next whack extra emphasis in conjunction with his words. I moaned, the
only response I could muster as the sensation traveled from my ass up through my cunt and into my chest, arms, and head, making
me shake with pleasure. “I didn’t hear you count, Serena,” he said, and the way he spoke my name, so deep and husky, made
me melt.

“Twenty-one,” I said, sad to have almost reached the end of our session, but excited about the prospect of him sinking his
hard, fat cock—which I could feel jerking underneath me—into my pussy. For the second time, he pressed his fingers into my
sopping-wet tunnel, which had gotten even juicier with his carefully placed blows. He knows just where to strike to make me
cream, and as he plunged his fingers inside me, I nuzzled against his thigh and squeezed my pussy tightly around his digits.
“Yes,” I said, not even sure what I wanted by that point—more spanking or his cock.

“I’ll fuck you, birthday girl, but you have eight more smacks to go, and I’m gonna make them good,” he told me. Then he proceeded
to do just that, doling out the next seven with an intensity he hadn’t shown earlier. I knew his hand had to be stinging as
much as my ass was, but he didn’t let on. When I got to my “one to grow on,” I felt the heat rushing through not just my ass,
but the area surrounding it as well. My whole body felt hot, swollen, and horny. When he finally flipped me over to face him,
I was as limp as a noodle, with all of my consciousness centered in my sex.

He delicately carried me up the stairs as I wilted in
his arms, my butt throbbing every time it brushed against him. He deposited me on the bed, then took a moment to admire me.
“You know, Serena, you get more beautiful every year.” Then he took out his cock, and I opened my mouth instinctively to suck
him for a moment before letting go and spreading my legs to welcome him into my pussy.

“Turn over,” he commanded, and I did so immediately, realizing that he wanted a view of my bottom, which he’d just so fabulously
landscaped—it was now a vision of pink streaks. To aid him further, I reached behind me and spread myself for him.